45
16 November 1991 Pub, second floor
9 p.m., meeting of the full Battle Division.
*
I started the meeting by setting a common goal.
"We have a difficult but important task ahead of us. To save the hostages, and to do so, we must keep the guards out of the basement. And if they stay up all night in their room outside the basement, we can't stop them. Anyway, I can't think of a way to organize it. If there's nobody in this room at night and the guard sleeps on the second floor, there's no problem. So," I thought, "Edward! I need a couple of grenade launchers."
"I already have one, sir. From Russia, with love!"
"And the TNT?"
"Naturally, sir."
"Very good. How are we doing with medical support? I assume the hostages are in poor condition."
"The magician was never hired," said Creighton.
"Okay. We're working as we are. George! Set up a nurse station in the new cottage. Provide seven or eight beds in total. Get some medicine in the kitchen, put it in a dressing room."
George took a first aid course on duty. In his spare time, he took a Red Cross course every six months to keep up with his skills. It's a hobby for a man who wanted to help people. Someone to help them survive and someone to help them go into rebirth.
"Andrew, you're wearing med station potions, but no fanaticism. Healing, Skele-Gro, and four or five other items of your choice. Portkey to the village, too."
It's time to split up, it's not too early.
"Our second objective is to capture a prisoner for questioning, preferably a salesman. Through him, we will know the owner of the establishment, the patrons, and the suppliers. Master and patrons are unlikely to be punished... right now. So far, that's not our level. Even this operation is practically our limit. But we'll eliminate the suppliers. And then we'll patriotically declare. Rules, Britannia! Rule the waves. Britons will never be slaves!
I looked at the reaction. The Calhoun's played a poker face. Creighton smiled. Ocean proudly lifted his chin and straightened his shoulders. He seemed to be the only one who didn't realize it was a joke.
"I'll expect you here tomorrow for five o'clock tea. We'll have a training session on the model of the building. After that, we'll rest before the operation."
I've got to set up a medical magician through Delacour. We'll need him after the attack. And let Skeeter stay alert. This is all about the press in the first place. I've turned into a nasty politician!
And it's been two months of probation for everyone but Ocean. Right after the surgery and I'm going to do the talking. Who's staying and who's going to leave? Although, if anyone leaves, it will be Anna. The only way I can publish her articles is in "The Quibbler". The Prophet will not let critical material come out. I changed my mind about publishing in The Quibbler. I don't want to frame Lovegoods, and the audience at The Quibbler is not the same. Oh, whatever thoughts you can think of while you're waiting. But I do have an idea about spreading Anna's articles to the public as a last resort. Finally, everybody got together and checked it out, Creighton gave me a scrap of cable, portkey.
*
Knockturn alley, by Gringotts. 18 November 5 a.m.
*
All of the portkeys lead to Gringotts. Because it's convenient. Because the Knockturn Alley is this way. Okay, enough with the thinking. You need to focus and feel.
Knockturn is empty at night, except they sleep here very sensitively. Almost every window I see the magic of the locals. And thermal sensors, too. Around the corner, and there's some suspicious personality lurking. Only they can't attack our five. If I were local, I'd think about a "sudden" Auror raid, which wasn't reported by informants. Five minutes later, we approached the target. The "Service" building in all its glory. The rectangular dome of the magic shield, which repeats the shape of the house in a foot from it, shines weakly in the magic range. The first floor looks dead, there's only one hearth of life on the second floor. In the thermal range, the whole room is illuminated by a slave trader breathing. The windows are closed with shutters.
"Edward, George. Contact! The room that overlooks the two right windows on the second floor."
In Knockturn Alley, the houses are close by. It's a good thing the street was making a small turn, otherwise, it would be dangerous to fire a grenade launcher.
There was no room to step back. That's when we could get thirty yards away. Ocean took his shoulder bag of shots off, the Calhounes approached him. I and Creighton were watching the neighborhood.
The neighborhood was watching us with at least a dozen eyes.
George put a grenade in the shield opposite the second right window. A yard hole of two diameters was formed in the magic shield, and then it disappeared. Four inches is not a serious caliber... for a cruiser. It works great on land! The blinds and windows were scattered all over the street. Three seconds later, Edward put a second grenade through the window.
"Report!"
"Clear."
Okay, nobody's stopping us from getting into the basement. The door's locked to a regular bolt. Right next to the stairs, there's a coal warehouse and a supply closet. Next, eight single cameras, similar to those in the basement at 12 Grimmauld Place. Only these have no magic protection at all. The entire budget went to the shield, fortified windows, and traps in the hall. The doors are locked with rotary bolts. Two cameras are empty. George stayed in the security room, and Edward opens the camera doors with me. The two prisoners are girls, and there's no time to look at the others.
"We are rescuers. Get out of the cells and prepare to evacuate. You'll have medical attention, warm food, and clothing. I repeat. We are rescuers. Get out of your cells and prepare to evacuate."
The kids were awake after the noise we made. Nor did they look mortified to death. Who came out on their own, which had to pull their hand. Then Edward took over the evacuation arrangements.
"Hold on to the rope so you don't get lost. Hold on tight! Everybody hold on? Letus!"
I climbed the stairs up to the guard room where George was holding the post.
"George! Guard! Kreacher! Take these two prisoners! George, prepare to evacuate! See you bastards, I'll be back, evacuate!"
*
The village, the medical station. It's almost 6:00 in the morning.
*
"Kreacher, go to 12 Grimmauld Place. Take package number two in the living room and hand it over to Rita Skeeter personally. She should expect it. Then keep an eye on the prisoners. Do it."
There were noise and hum in the room. Edward wasn't handling the situation. Someone was whining, someone was quietly crying in the corner, two girls were pestering Edward with questions. Weak.
"Silence in the hospital!" I ordered the deepest bass I could afford. "Get out to bed! Immediately!"
The contrast in conversion impressed the former hostages, and those who were not on the beds sat on them. Pulling the most severe expression on my face, I continued.
"My name is Harry Potter. Some of you know who I am. And who doesn't know, may ask those who do. Now you'll be given clean clothes and fed. We'll call your parents. If there's no one to take you away, I'll take care of you myself. Now, wait and be quiet."
*
Arriving at 12 Grimmauld Place Rita received an artistic description of the incident. Emphasis was placed on the vile not humanity of the bastards who held children! In the cells! Six children, four girls, and two boys have been saved, but their names have not yet been revealed for safety reasons. Then I answered "Rita's questions". At first, I told them that I had almost accidentally fallen victim to slave traders myself. Then I cried as the thought of poor victims drilled into my brain. When asked why I had decided to participate in the action, I answered that I had been kidnapped by an unscrupulous and shameless bastard. He gave me slavery, so I couldn't leave the children in trouble. I know from experience what awaits them. Rita asked me why I didn't go to the official office. I objected that the bastard kidnapper was the head of Wizengamot. And even the apparent death of young Longbottom did not shake his position. I can't take any chances. One bastard kidnapper can be the patron of other bastard kidnappers. Anyway, that's not out of the question.
Rita left the house, so I went to the village. Is there an analog to the Pulitzer Prize for Journalism in the magical world? Rita would be a regular candidate in the categories "hysterical sensationalist submission" and "smearing one sentence into two sheets".
It was my insider information that made her articles interesting to read. In addition to chewing snot, there were facts. Although English magicians eat her shit, alas! It's not Rita dumb, this woman is very smart, it's the readers are unwise.
*
The village
Around half-past 7:00 p.m.
*
The hospital met me with a nice picture. The situation inside was changed, and it was good for her. The beds were pushed into the next room. And in the other room, there were three sofas on which the children settled. There were a couple of coffee tables, one with books on it, the other with chess. George was seated in a chair. George, when he saw who came in, continued reading aloud. And I went up to the chair and leaned my hand on the back. Finally, he interrupted, told the children to wait for him. We went outside. It's not warm anymore. Although Edward did provide some clothes for the season. After lunch, there was a walk around the village.
It's a huge minus for us that it's not hard for the Legilimency expert to count the picture for the child's disfigurement. And with a wand, and verbally, almost every novice mentalist can do it. I don't know how to avoid it. Obliviate cannot be applied to children. This whole thing smells bad. Until now, we haven't shone. That's the problem I have right now. Getting the kids to their parents. Why did I even do that? Well, I'll send them home. In a couple of days, I'm having a Spider Auror come to me to "find out" the details of the rescue from slavery. But then they'll just try to arrest me and put me in a cell! Just in case, forever. I'll have to kill them. I'll bury them, of course, but that's not an option for me in the long run. So, what's the conclusion? And the conclusion is the same. There's no problem. There's only one bright side to it. Let those who are supposed to work in their jobs. And who gets paid for it. Except it's not the Aurors. They've already discredited themselves. It's time to start work with an important and serious lady. It's your turn, Madame Bones!*
*
***
Soon on the screens
Naruto Clones vs. Wizards
*
Naruto discussed the main problem with the two clones. He knew it wasn't normal, but he enjoyed discussing the important events of his new life with those who reminded him of his old life. Sweet Sakura and nasty Sasuke. Naruto followed them a lot and remembered the features of their faces very well. He never tried to accept Sakura's image. But he was well prepared for one evil joke about this insolent brunette from the Uchiha clan. He looked at Sakura and Sasuke, and always remembered who he was. He's a shinobi who follows the Will of Fire.
"Sasuke, you will act in the Muggle world. We are interested in him. We need Muggle money!"
"And we need to practice the ability to kill. I agree," nodded the head of a black-haired clone.
"Sakura, you must gather a lot of information about the Wizarding world. You'll become the Dark Mistress of the World of Magic."
"Naruto baka! Magic has many colors. I'm angry as Chо̄ji, which is called fat! Where's the pink magic? I will show them all the will of Fire! Our clones will be sly and insidious. You stupid boys can wave your kunais and throw shurikens. My weapon is a cloak of invisibility. My weapon is knowledge and cunning. Our enemies will eat themselves up. I'm going to put them all against each other."
Sakura is dangerous, thought Naruto, and spoke of his role.
"I'll start earning galleons and earning a reputation."